[Bo Dreamwolf]

 The hard smack of my fist against the punching bag reverberated along the empty walls of the gym I had been a member of since I was a teenager. I didn't actually intend to find myself here, at the Cherokee Nation Male Seminary Recreation Center. I wanted to treat myself to a day off from training so hopefully I'd be able to go to sleep tonight without those aches that have been plaguing me for what seems like forever. They've been growing steadily with their intensity. Not a crippling pain mind you, thank the Spirit, not yet. But they've been throbbing, a nagging pain that at the wrong times, would catch me unaware with a sharpness to them I would not be prepared for. To date, I've tried controlling this pain by taking precautions that I am none too proud of, but given my personal responsibilities, I would have to be willing to look the other way when my conscience would be a factor.

This was why I had wanted to just stay at home today, and maybe keep busy by doing the chores around the house that needed done. Unfortunately things don't always go according to hopes and desires, do they?

I swung my fist into the punching bag, then backed up three steps and kicked my leg up and delivered a blow to the bag with my foot that would have scored me a win in any match, had the bag just been a wrestling competitor. I'm a black belt in savate. A lot of people might not know that because I try to refrain from using these maneuvers in my matches, unless the man I am booked against is known to do the same; in Japan for example. The simple fact is, if you start using martial arts kicks in your matches, your legs and feet will become a stellar target to any opponent and that is just begging for an injury. Like a great, big neon sign getting attached to your legs that says, "Cripple me, please!" And besides, given what we put our bodies through in that ring with the scores of debilitating moves in the average wrestler's arsenal, a martial arts kick kind of pales in comparison. Contrary to what so many young kids that want to break into the business believe, knowing a little karate will not make you invincible.

So why am I here, instead of at home with my grandmother, like I wanted? Well, I have to admit it's not something that I'm terribly proud of.

I get asked a lot of questions by a lot of people. The majority would, of course, be wrestling related. At other times, the questions have less to do with the sport itself and more to do with me in the sport. One of the most frequent questions is how I can maintain such a level of calm and respect, when wrestling itself is a harrowing business that tests the limits of one's mentality as well as morality. The answer is always the same; family. My grandmother has always kept me grounded when the influences of traveling starts to wear on me.

Do I have a drink now and then? Of course. It's common knowledge after any wrestling show, the guys and ladies all gather at a local club to celebrate together a show well done. It's a tradition I initially wished no part of, but after a fair number of years in the game, and being hassled quite often by Mister Parker and Mister Ward to let loose a little, I realized it's not as bad as I made it out to be inside of this hard head of mine.

Do I do the drugs that have plagued this business for so many years? Absolutely not. Cocaine and the like never appealed to me. I was never curious about these so-called effects, and if I was ever offered, the one doing so was lucky I just slapped the package from his hand rather than the taste out of his mouth. Plus I never understood why a wrestler would risk his very life with steroids. one just need to look at me to know that's a drug I never sampled. I only weigh roughly 215 pounds for crying out loud! I would never be able to handle the disappointment in my gramma's eyes if I would have fallen down that path. Bad enough that I now found myself taking drastic measures to ease the pain I've been in. She doesn't need to know about that though.

Do I indulge in those femme fatales known demeaningly as ring rats after the shows? That, my friends, is nobody's business.

To make a long story short (I know, I know -- too late!), I do get upset and lose my temper. It's only human and it doesn't make me any less respectful towards those around me when it happens. I just try not to do so too often. Unfortunately, this time I have to admit the loss of my temper had little to nothing to do with the business, and everything to do with my family.

Have I ever introduced you to my sister, Abigail?



No, I imagine I haven't. I've only mentioned her a few times, and never by name. Not because I don't love her, God no! I just don't want her exposed to any part of this business's negativity, and yes, there can be a lot of that. Abigail is my little sister by three years, and my only sibling. She and my Grandmother are my only surviving relatives. Notice I didn't include Abigail's husband, Darius. I know this isn't a very nice thing to say, but my sister could have done so much better for a mate. (Like I'm one to talk, single as I am.) The best way that I can describe Darius is, Fred Flintstone with a better car. He works in  banking, and money means a great deal to him. More than it should in my own humble opinion. He's the one who convinced my sister to move clear out of state and all the way to Texas. Plus, I greatly dislike the way he seems to have taken an interest in the family homestead. He's mentioned more than once the market value of the house that's been in our family for a few generations. Grams has noticed it as well, and took precautions she wanted kept secret, but as I said before, things don't always go according to desires. This one was my fault.

Today was my Grandmother's 84th birthday. A few years ago, she had suffered a hard case of pneumonia and doctors weren't sure how many years she had left, but did not think it would be as many as she's had. She always did enjoy proving people wrong, and if it's a doctor, so much the better. Her health made a near complete recovery, albeit she would start to tire earlier in the day than she used to. Still, 84! Wow!

Abigail and Darius ventured from San Antonio to spend the weekend at the house and celebrate Grandmother's birthday proper. (Something tells me it was Abigail's idea, and she most likely had to twist Darius's arm to get him to agree.) Mister Parker and his family were unable to come, but they did send the birthday girl the most gorgeous shawl. Mister Ward also knew of my Grandmother's fondness for the old sit-com, the Golden Girls, so he sent her the complete series on DVD. I don't think she's stopped watching the collection since she unwrapped it. (I'll get you for that Mister Ward!) So along with a few close friends, it was a pleasant birthday gathering of mainly family -- and Darius.

It was Abigail's honour to bring in the two-tier cake as Darius dimmed the lights of our dining room. It was only right as Abigail was the one who baked it, along with making the full birthday dinner. My sister was a beast in the kitchen, where as I could probably set fire to a pan of water. I sat in my chair at Gram's left, and watched her aged eyes light up with the brightness of a little girl when the cake was set down in front of her as we sang 'Happy Birthday' and gave her a moment's pause to make a wish before she blew out the single candle. Each of us was wearing one of those silly party hats you often see at kids' parties, but  imagine it took some needling on my sister's part to get Darius to don his own. Today was her day, and even Mister Parker would have been smiling at the way she carefully unwrapped each gift so she could keep the paper intact. 84, nothing. I can only hope birthdays still mean as much to me if I'm blessed enough to reach her age.

Which brings me to what had caused me to lose myself, especially on a day where no ill will should prevail. It was caused quite by accident, but I'm glad for it to have been so. I had managed to overhear a phone conversation of Darius's when he was in my study, and I don't mind telling you that it was a good thing my Grandmother was still awake or else he and I would have had immediate words. That came later once Grams went to bed and I found myself in the kitchen with Abigail, doing the evening meal's dishes. I guess Darius was off doing something that bankers did, and soiling his smooth hands with dish water something unheard of.

The day had gone by better than I hoped. Even Darius put on the air of a man enjoying himself. He was probably watching television or doing some business over the phone again, as I stood to my sister's right in the kitchen and dried the dishes that she briskly washed and passed off to me. Once each dish was wiped dry with the dish towel, I would set it aside and accept the next. Putting them away always came last. We worked without talking very much, enjoying each other's company while exchanging tidbits of personal gossip. She told me of her and Darius's plans for children hopefully in the next year, and I kept her up to date on my teaching job as well as my competing inside of the ring. When you were as close as Abigail and I had been, words were not fully necessary. I missed her, and I put full blame on her husband that we do not have as much contact as we once had.

Abigail had fallen silent for the past few minutes, and the dishes were almost finished. I stole a look now and then toward her and I could tell she had something on her mind, and if my hunches were correct, i knew exactly what it was that she wanted to talk about.

"Bo..." Abigail started, handing the last porcelain cup over to me, before she looked at the kitchen window and I just held the cup, not bothering to dry it yet as I saw the moonlight cascade across Abigail's eyes. "Can we talk?"

"Isn't that what we've been doing for the past thirty minutes?" I quipped before I proceeded to finish my own task and I set the cup onto the dish rack and scooped up a handful of the plates to put in the cupboard.

Abigail turned away from the window and rested her back against the counter, drying her hands on a towel. "No, I mean talk, like we..."

I interrupted her, "We're not selling the house."

She could not have been more surprised had she been slapped. I calmly closed the cupboard door and turned back to see her watching me with a look like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming 18 wheeler. I was going to continue putting the dishes away but I figured, if we're going to do this, might as well give it my full and undivided attention. I leaned my side against the counter with my elbow on the edge and watched her. She fidgeted, and looked down at the tan linoleum floor for but a moment before returning her brown gaze back to her older brother.

I answered the unasked question, "I overheard Darius on the phone, talking to, I imagine, one of his banker buddies. He was discussing the house's market value for I believe the umpteenth time..."

Abigail sighed and shook her head, taking a step toward me, but the next thing I said stopped her.

"I believe the words 'retirement home' was also brought up."

Maybe I said this with a harsher tone than I intended to, but I didn't care. Those two words were an abomination in my own humble opinion, especially when they were being used in reference to my own grandmother! I watched her, and she knew that her older brother was angry. No, more than angry. I don't use this language too often, but her older brother was quite literally, pissed off.

"Let me guess." I said before she could speak up in her husband's defense. "This was Darius' idea, and he put it up to you to bring the topic up to me."

"Bo..."

"The answer is no, Abigail. And you can tell that misbegotten mongrel you call a husband that our Grandmother will get her fondest wish which is to die in the very same house her own grandfather built!"

Abigail's eyes briefly flashed back with the same righteous fury I had been proud to see years ago. She snarled, "Don't you dare speak of my husband like that...!"

I fully accepted her challenge and took the gauntlet thrown my way. I asked her, "What else would you call a man that wants to pull an old woman from her home and lock her away in an old age community just so he can get his hands on her house?"

"Bo, it's not like that." Abigail tried to reason but she was already in a losing battle. She just didn't know it yet. "Darius is just thinking of Grandmother's best interests."

I scoffed openly and shook my head in disbelief with a sardonic smile.

"He is!" Abigail protested. "Bo, she's 84. She's not a young woman any longer."

"I am well aware of that."

"Are you? You promised to make sure she was well cared for when I moved but you went and became a wrestler and leave her for days on end when god knows what could happen. From what she told me, you even spent two months in Japan and left her..."

"I left her in the care of two good people who she adored as her own family. I had no intention of even going to Japan had it not been for her convincing me to do so!"

"Still," Abigail challenged. "Here you are now, dragging her around the country to go to these little wrestling shows like you would someone half her age..."

I frowned and shook my head. "Don't try to turn this against me. I asked Grandmother to go to a show or two with me, to keep me company on the road. Even her own doctor said she was up for it, so long as she took it easy. He said it was better for her health than just sitting here in her rocker, watching television all day!"

Before she could speak up, I held up my hand to stall her and continued, "And do not think to use my traveling as an argument for why this should happen, little sister. After all, aren't you the one who moved several states away, when you could have also stayed in the same city to help care for her?"

"Darius..."

"Darius." I repeated, perhaps in something akin to a nasty tone. "Yes, I'm sure he put his foot down with you and you had no other choice but to do as he said and move. He said more than once that this town was a dead end to his career. Family be damned so long as there's a dollar to be made."


"I can't believe you just said that."

"I can't believe you want to drag our only family out of this house and drop her off at some old folk's home Darius probably saw on an episode of Hard Copy!"

"That's not fair!"

"Life isn't fair Abigail!" I scolded right back. "So you can just convince your husband of that when he finds out he won't be making a fast dollar on this house!"

Abigail frowned and a nasty light shone in her eyes, one that I did not like to see in someone I loved so dearly. Something else to blame that bastard Darius for. She said, "You understand with my husband as power-of-attorney..."

"He's not." I interrupted, smoothly. "Not any more."

"What?"

I said, "Grandmother isn't as feeble as Darius thinks her as being. She knows where his interests in this house lay. That's why she took precautions to keep his hands out of the cookie jar." I pointed a finger to my own chest. "I have power-of-attorney now. Grandmother stays in this house, and this house remains in the family."

"Bo," Abigail stammered, tears welling in her eyes. "Darius will fight that."

I shrugged. "He can try but it won't do him any good. Grandmother transferred the house into my name."

"What?" Abigail practically spit. "Why... when?"

"Almost two years ago." I answered. "But then again, you would have known that if you visited more often."

Abigail was stunned. I could see it in her eyes, if not her face.

"I don't believe it..."

"If you don't, then tell your husband to bring this to court." I answered. "That should prove it, and I can tell you now I have two friends who have a long list of lawyers ready for me that would just love to take Darius apart in front of a judge."

"Bo..."

"The house is in my name, Abigail, but it is still Grandmother's as far as I'm concerned." I picked up a stack of dried plates and turned to the cupboard. "That is the end of this discussion." I did not need to hear the sound of her footsteps leaving the kitchen to know that she had taken her leave. Most likely to inform her husband of the news. Good on him, but not so for her. As I said, I adored my sister. I just so happened to hate the man that she was married to.

I swung another fist into the punching bag but I wish that I hadn't. Ill-timed or ill-positioned, a sharp pain went right up my side and across my back. I froze, and almost cried out. It. Hurt. I rested against the large bag, with my arms wrapped around it and my sweaty forehead rested against it.

I knew that my prescriptions were running out, and would need refilled soon. I also worried that someday, this would come back and bite me in the ass.

"I have to admit that this match has me excited. When I was the final man remaining in the battle royal at Blaze of Glory, i didn't know what to think or expect in the coming weeks. I only knew that the match had secured me an opportunity to go up against a champion in probably one of the more unique wrestling divisions since the infamous XXX division in the old ASFW in years gone by. That's not saying that I am hoping for this Roulette title match to be in the mud or jello or whatever other god forsaken matches Mister Underwood has cooked up in that devious mind of his. The comparison is more to the unique nature of the Roulette championship, and the man that has hold of it and to whom I will be facing this Sunday.

That man is Lucian frost, although as I understand it, he pretty much prefers to go just by Frost when he's inside of the ring. Why? I don't know. The name Frost doesn't fit the man as he is constantly setting the ring on fire with this style that he has made all his own. The man who has made the Roulette championship, his own. What else can you say about a man that walked away from the ring as the inaugural champion, and who has this uncanny ability to adapt his style to fit whatever match the wheel spins and lands on? It speaks volumes about his ability, let me tell you. Frost isn't a man that is hindered by his lack of size against men so much larger than he is. At only 5'7" and 165 pounds, he's a man that is towered over by other men in a sport where seemingly giants rule. Yet it's to the masked man's credit that although he is small in stature, he is a giant in his mind. He fights with the mentality and will to win that men three times his size do not possess.

I respect that. And I respect him. Frost, it is an honor to be the next in a long line of challengers that you've faced and defeated. Yet it is also a rather dubious honor to say that I will also be the last challenger you defend that championship against. I don't know what's going on inside of that head of yours, but I can hazard a guess. You're guessing that this time, you're against a man that isn't a high flyer or a power wrestler, but a man that was trained to simply take you apart at the seams until your body would not cooperate to fight back any longer.

That's me. that's what I was taught to do, and what I will do. It's very rare for me to be inside of the ring with a man smaller than I am. At 6'0" and just 217 pounds, I'm far from being the largest man in the business, but I've been able to take those bigger than me and break them down, bit by bit. If I can do that to men bigger than me, try to imagine what I'll do to someone smaller than my own stature. Oh don't get me wrong. I know it won't be easy! You didn't get to where you are right now by being a push over. Actually, it's quite the contrary. You got to where you are by simply being a formidable man. Then again, so did I. I got to where I am to this day with a fire in my heart, and a trainer that would kick my tail if I ever turned away from an opportunity. And what better opportunity can there be than challenging a man of your caliber for his championship belt, and winning it to boot?

When that opening bell rings, I will offer to shake your hand, and I will do the same when the closing bell goes off as well. But in between the sound of the bells? All bets are off, and it becomes business. I respect you Frost. I hope that you can say the same for me."